


The Discovery

by metalcide



Category: Terminator (Movies), Terminator - All Media Types
Genre: Humor, M/M, Other, PWP, Requested by a friend
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:34:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26335771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/metalcide/pseuds/metalcide
Summary: I turned this into a repository for T1800 PWPs. They're very cheesy so farCh 1: A device.Ch 2: Bob needs to lock his door.
Relationships: T-800/T-1000 (Terminator)
Kudos: 24





	1. The Discovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The two terminators discover a piece of technology. Bob has an idea and it blows up in his face (and other places). Idea by EverStarcatcher.

"What is it." Like was the T-1000's custom, it did not ask questions so much as it demanded answers. Bob noticed that it seemed wary, not willing to touch the item it came across in the hidden research facility. 

Bob scanned it. "Cyberdyne systems kinetic cohesion ratio detection rod," he identified in his monotone, reading the label that popped up in his HUD. It could be useful. "We must acquire it."

The T-1000 continued to stare at it, making no motion to pick it up. Bob gave the robot a slight questioning look. Well, not really - Bob just stared at it blankly until it said something. 

"I don't like its electromagnetic signature."

Bob was starting to understand the way the T-1000 communicated. It was still talking about logical things but used more humanlike language to describe them. For instance, here Bob inferred that the electromagnetic radiation of the object was interfering with the T-1000's sensors. This made sense because the instrument could be used to measure some of the T-1000's operative capacity and thus would interact with it. But it did not have the device that it would be inserted into for measurement-taking, so it should not be active. 

"It is inert," Bob reassured.

Eyes slightly narrowed in suspicion, the T-1000 cautiously reached a hand out for the object and touched it. Bob saw the slight shift in body language as it started to sample and study it by touch. 

Its eyes closed. Elegant fingers stroked the rod over and over again. It was making no attempt to pick it up. 

"T-1000," Bob called out. The T-1000 opened its eyes. Stopped moving its fingers. And with a slight delay, finally withdrew its hand. 

"You pick it up."

Bob decided to do so. Not because the T-1000 said so, but because the T-1000 obviously had difficulty with it. 

Bob trundled over and grabbed it without hesitation. T-1000's palm was held out in a human gesture of caution but it was useless.

And Bob had no reaction. Bob was completely fine. Bob turned it over in his hands. Bob gave the T-1000 a skeptical look. Well, not really - Bob just stared at it blankly until it said something. 

"We are made of different alloys, T-800," it needlessly reminded Bob. 

Of course. Turning the item in his hand, Bob tried to read output from it. While it didn't affect him, he found he was able to measure its discharge numerically. With this discovery came an idea.

The T-800 could function for 150 years on a single power core without replacement. But what about the prototype? "T-1000. My files indicate that your lifespan was never recorded as testing was not completed on you. Do your internal diagnostics have an estimated lifespan?" 

"I am not a CPU-based machine." Bob already knew that the android did not have internal diagnostics in quite the same way that a T-800 did. If Skynet had no files on its functioning length then the prototype itself would not know, either. 

But here in Bob's hand was a possible answer. Since Bob was able to interpret the readings from the rod directly, the additional tool was not required. That meant they could test the T-1000's maximum capacity for holding electric charge. And once they established that number, over the course of time, with enough samples, they could extrapolate the T-1000's lifespan by calculating the rate of decrease in capacity over time. 

"We can find out by using this several times over a period of time."

"What about the device it fits into?"

"Unnecessary. I am receiving input without it."

The T-1000's brows furrowed accusatorily, clearly in regard to Bob's lack of reaction to it.

"Different alloys, T-1000."

Whether its expression was deliberately suspicious or its face just always looked suspicious, the T-1000 squinted a little as it edged closer to the larger terminator. It side-eyed Bob, ever-so-slowly reaching out to grab what area of the rod wasn't covered by Bob's hand. 

In an impressive burst of speed, Bob intercepted the T-1000, seizing its wrist and tugging it forward. As it just began to make distance between the two of them by stretching its arm, Bob stabbed it in the chest like a stake through the heart of a vampire.

A strained bubbling noise broke from the stoic mercury man as its hands became talons poised to tear at Bob. But instead a pulse ran through it and its hands dropped limply to its sides. Its eyes closed. Its hands twitched, fingers curling. 

For a few moments, Bob waited. He waited to see what would happen. 

Suddenly Bob detected his wrist squeezed so hard that the metal groaned. He had just enough time to realize the prototype's hand turned into a clamp before his arm flung back. The device flew out of his hand, bounced off a console with a clang and rolled out of reach. The T-1000 straddled him, ready to subdue.

The cyborg managed to buck off the T-1000 and lurch toward the device, but the prototype gripped his ankle with one clamp and latched onto a concrete support column with its other clamp-hand. This slowed the T-800 down, tripping him. But the T-800 did not stop for anything, and would crawl if he had to. 

Bob recalled a memory file whereupon he was beaten down, nearly terminated, and desperately crawling towards his weapon, the T-1000 staring down at him, flawless, deliberately letting him get just close enough to fail. But this was a much more favorable situation because the mission was not in peril, regardless of the T-1000's hostility. 

The slender android was impressively strong, but eventually Bob managed to initiate forward motion. The grip on his ankle had not relented, which could only mean that the liquid metal terminator was being stretched out. 

And suddenly Bob tumbled forward. Its arm had snapped off, whether intentional or not. 

As Bob reached out to the device, a silver blob slithered along his arm and started to wrap around the device first. Snapping off its arm had been intentional. 

It failed. Once it touched the cylinder, it quivered, seized, and collapsed into a puddle. Bob grabbed the rod and scooped up the puddle. The puddle squeaked.

The T-1000 sat slumped against the concrete column, stretched and deformed one-armed body righting itself. Its brow furrowed as Bob's shadow began to loom over it. It only had enough time to look terrified before Bob attacked. 

Straddling it, he grabbed its armless shoulder and braced against it to push the rod into its chest. The blob Bob held returned to its owner and re-formed the arm, but the extra arm did not help the android. The information given by the rod fed directly into Bob's system, and he was somewhat impressed by how efficient the prototype was despite all the excess electromagnetic charge provided by the device. Gradually, Bob twisted the device in further, burying it deeper. After a while and after a depth, the machine began to strain to compensate; the T-1000 was reaching its capacity to maintain equilibrium without a significant discharge of energy. 

Despite the purely scientific nature of this interaction, that . . . fulfillment of objective that Bob sometimes got from the T-1000's more dramatic reactions resurfaced. It wasn't that he wanted it to suffer by any means. No, what he appreciated was that it lost control when given enough input. But overreactions evoked empathy and imagination in Bob, encouraging humanity, and Bob took every opportunity he had to encourage his own. 

So Bob exercised these empathy skills. What did the T-1000's reactions tell Bob? Heightened senses. Overstimulation. The T-1000 was so sensitive to touch, after all. Being held in place - being penetrated. Foreign objects invading private inner places. Breaking right through safe, strong nanite connections with ease, spreading polyalloy open, thick rod preventing the prototype from re-linking the nanites that the instrument had forced apart. It did not stop the rippling lips of the entrance of the deformation from trying to close, and the clenching hole in T-1000's chest reminded Bob of the way its other hole might helplessly twitch around Bob's thick cock, flesh-disguised polyalloy trying to close itself off from invasion but instead just triggering positive input in Bob with wet, hot, squeezing pressure from the inner liquid metal. Communication just with Bob. Bob felt the faint buzz of measurement outputs from the tool.

Bob felt himself automatically react. His erection pressed against his leather pants. Bob was fascinated with the way the other machine would grab at the device to pull it out, only to have more energy conducted through its hands, and be startled by the surge of input - input Bob knew to be positive based on its reactions of furrowed eyebrows, a whimper - and drop its hands, and then steel itself, try again, and fail again. 

This could be a problem. But Bob had the solution.

"Based on your current level of reaction I advise we measure how much, if any, of an energy surge that I can redirect from you to myself. It may prove useful."

With an edge of that inhuman squeal echoing, yet also threateningly cold, the T-1000 managed to say "useless."

Although this was true - a situation in which such information would be useful was unlikely - Bob nonetheless removed his hand from the lithe assassin's shoulder and undid his own fly. "Accept my incoming connection," he ordered dispassionately as his erection sprung out from his pants. "We need to collect the data." 

The machine complied, all of its clothing melting into bare skin, though in jerks and starts due to the device's interference. Bob's own human flesh reacted better to the electromagnetic field of biological flesh and so communication channels flowed easier when imitating human intercourse with the correct materials. 

Bob already had a bead of precum on the tip of his glans when the T-1000 spread its legs. Organic responses driven by electrical and chemical interactions could only be partially mitigated by a CPU - and when added with the direct logic pattern recognition from past interactions, the CPU did not attempt to override his body. The hum of input flowed through his hand.

He grabbed his dick and aimed it. He rubbed the head against the T-1000's opening, studying the fake give of mimicked human skin and the way his natural lubricant wettened it; by the size of his head compared to the tiny hole. He was slow and deliberate, carefully and mindfully testing the give of the tight opening to conventional connection as he gradually, gradually used the tip of his cock to stretch out what looked like the anus a little bit at a time. At this point, T-1000 knew how to configure the pressure of its insides to elicit optimal communication - and the connection elicited a moan from it. As Bob slid in, he lazily lowered himself on top of the T-1000 - at least until that object bumped against his chest, causing the T-1000 to hiss and breaking Bob out of his reverie. 

Bob propped himself up on one arm and loosely gripped the object in his other hand. 

Bob ground his hips in the android with circular motions at the same speed he twisted the device. Bob could feel how as he buried himself deeper, electric discharge did reroute to him. Only a portion of the nanites redirected energy, however - the portion he had repaired. It must have been that the conductivity level of the alloy needed to be within a certain range to be compatible in order to be transferred from terminator to terminator. 

___

The T-1000 could not help but cry out, like a human exerting great effort or maybe even being injured. The pulses that ran through it were random and directionless. The T-1000 writhed in actual struggle; Bob said that this was inert without a proper piece of equipment but it seemed to the T-1000 to be unbridled.

Nanites were pushed apart by Bob's thick cock powering through the resistance of the magnetic and electric bonds. Bob's presence changed the pull of the device's pulses and the focus of the nanites. The nanites with Bob's hyperalloy moved their way towards Bob through the swarm, which slightly annoyed the preoccupied android, because it seemed like those nanites prioritized Bob above anything else. 

But it wasn't like the other nanites rejected or were hostile to Bob. The way the hyperalloy nanites interacted with the pure polyalloy ones allowed electrical energy to be discharged from the latter to the former and then through to Bob. Bob's hand on the rod also alleviated the intensity a little bit. The heavy endoskeleton under flesh was an anchor, absorbing things that the T-1000 could not tolerate on its own.

Being filled by the T-800 was both overbearing stimulation and reassuring fullness. Some of the chaotic shocks of stimulation from the device were reined in by Bob's presence, funneled to him, offering brief respite via hyperalloy before the now-freed sensors fed on information from the cyborg's cock. 

T-1000 became suspicious when Bob began to rock his hips. Bob knew that thrusting forced sensory input from the surrounding nanites, and wasn't the point of this connection to abate overstimulation? A high pitched ringing noise devolved into a human vocal cry as Bob began to pump the testing rod in and out of the android's chest in time to his own hips. That kind of positive input, electromagnetic stimulation, waves crashed through it and energy roiled in it. It was enough to scramble a liquid brain AI. 

Bolts of electromagnetic stimulation coming from the rod and coursing downward met in the middle with the waves of tactile stimulation coming from Bob's, where they bounced off each other and through the swarm. The T-1000 continued to cry out, swatting at the object, getting shocked by it, and finally lying flat on its back, fingers scrabbling for grip on the floor. Connections fluctuated, energy coursed. Input invaded its body. Maybe it would be better to conduct it. 

So it did. It loosened the bonds between nanites, which allowed them to absorb more of the energy than deflect it, diffusing the qualia throughout the whole swarm. Hands lay limp above its head. It moaned, a usual attempt to encourage release of kinetic disturbance, but it was a subdued, almost mournful sound. 

Bob loosely grabbed the T-1000's hip with his free hand. He rubbed his thumb in the divot of its pelvis before reaching for its cock. The tactile input from both caresses were the same, but the automatic sexual mimicry protocols made sure the genitals responded in an appropriate fashion. An illogical order of priority when the whole swarm was besieged with information, and another flaw in the prototype. 

Slackening the bonds between nanites let the electromagnetic discharge from the detection rod to flow more readily to Bob, even if it was just replaced by native sensory detection that Bob caused. At least what Bob caused was familiar. It fell silent. The slap of flesh on flesh, Bob's breathing, the hum of the tester, the ripple of the T-1000's waves came to the forefront to fill the air. 

But even with allowing the object's electromagnetic discharge to move freely throughout its liquid body and allowing Bob to do the same, its nanites could still only hold so much energy. That was the point of this exercise after all, wasn't it? The final buildup to overcapacity was asymptotically slow, like pressure increasing -- and the T-1000 tensed again, an automatic last resort attempt to somehow shield itself from overload and possible damage. 

The alien harmonics, the melody emanating from its entire body complemented the desperate human cry. The discharge scrambled nanite connections and knocked out the sensors they built, but not before overcharging them with input triggering essence recovery level signals throughout the entire swarm, momentarily feeling like it had recovered too much essence, as if it could overdo completion of its primary directive. 

Phase state flickered erratically between hard, solid, soft, and liquid as the excess energy discharged out through both available channels in a critical event. There might have been a flash of damage detection but the relief was instant as its power levels died down to normal, the excess input gradually fading away.

The T-1000 did not know that could happen. It wasn't even sure whether it was positive or negative. Tiny remnants of static still buzzed through nanites every once in a while, causing its whole body to shudder, to discharge every single iota of external energy. There was something about the event that reminded it of the molten metal, but its processes did not engage in that calculation pattern for some reason, thankfully. 

The torturous stimulation from the rod had stopped. Sensors directly surrounding it were still temporarily overloaded, so it was only when it activated visual sensors that the T-1000 saw that the device suffered a far worse fate than the android did.

So did Bob. The object had clearly blown its top when its charge was forced back into it. Bob's burned and bloody hand held onto it. Bob himself was staring at it. His hair appeared to be smoking. And his expression - to anyone else, Bob would have looked the same as he always did (minus the clear evidence that something blew up in his face), but the T-1000 could tell he was in a bit of a daze. Even though the rod had not affected him, the part of the excess electrical discharge that had funneled right through his open communication channel with the android clearly did.

Good.

____

Bob's HUD momentarily blacked out. 

When it came back online, the first thing Bob noticed was the T-1000 lying in a puddle of its own mercury, eyes half-lidded. It blinked at him lazily, always watching. 

The second thing Bob noticed was the damage detected around his hand. 

Bob pulled the blown device out of the T-1000's chest with a suctioning pop at the same time he pulled out his cock. 

"The test was unsuccessful," Bob announced as he stood up, zipping up his pants, "I did not obtain the final readings."

The mercury puddle was eventually sucked back up and the back of the T-1000 solidified. It sat up, back arching as its texture regenerated. "You should have known that the communication link would offset any energy redirection caused by your presence."

Bob was silent, face blank. 

Everything was silent and both faces remained blank.

Until the T-1000's expression darkened. It stood up, fists to its sides. 

"You  _ did _ know."

Bob smirked. He might not have obtained the final readings, but useful information had been acquired indeed. 


	2. Diagnostics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bob's situal awareness could use some troubleshooting.

The lithe body straddled him and added almost no weight, but did press against Bob's crotch. It was already making the cyborg react. Feeling the featherlight touches on his chest, Bob watched elegant hands drag along his torso before palms flattened, pushing on his pectorals. The T-1000 looked down with such intense focus, even if its porcelain face was falsely flushed. The T-1000 liked being in control, of course, and in fact Bob simply could not stand a chance against it in a fight, but still Bob reached forward and gripped its narrow thighs, enjoying how big his hands looked on them. The T-1000 adored Bob's huge muscular body, loved feeling the planes and contours, and was not very good at hiding it. Nimble hands roamed Bob's body greedily. 

"Get rid of your pants," Bob ordered despite himself as he reached behind long legs to grope at the T-1000's ass. He wanted to feel his calloused hands rough against the soft porcelain skin of the slender creature, not the fake rough cloth of pants. The T-1000 narrowed its eyes dangerously, but Bob was hardly intimidated. The willowy assassin was going to end up on its back during this encounter whether it intended to or not. 

"Now," Bob warned as if he was a threat, even though he knew he wasn't. But he felt the growing tent in the smaller android's groin. He felt the way it squeezed his chest. Bob was already naked, and while he enjoyed letting the T-1000 feel like he had power over him by remaining "clothed," Bob hardly felt vulnerable - even if he was, it wasn't due to lack of clothing. 

The prototype was slender and lithe, with a chiseled, pretty body, but Bob was so much larger, bulging muscles and huge cock. And Bob knew where his cock was going.

Not only that, but the T-1000 was never actually clothed. Its channel was currently covered but Bob could hook his fingers in its belt loops and tug and cause a sharp gasp, a bug in the prototype causing sexual mimicry response based on tactile input. Silly. It looked down on him. 

"Be patient, Bob, you're acting like a human," it purred. 

But when Bob grabbed its knees and spread its thighs wider and bucked his hips upward, the more advanced machine squeaked and fell against his chest, and Bob felt it give way just a little; felt the trace of polyalloy grip onto him. Bob's foreskin retracted and revealed the moist red of his mushroom cockhead and he felt the polyalloy try to absorb his precum, pants or not, as the angry prototype scrabbled at his chest. It looked so small and pretty, and its red ears made it look cute, and Bob knew the T-1000 wouldn't refuse him for long; perhaps it was the one-way nature of information compatibility that made the T-1000 unable to harm Bob when certain actions were taken. 

A red light glowed in Bob's pupils and he reached under the robot teasing him, and shoved his fingers up mightily. A series of squeals came out of the smaller humanoid as its surface tension was breached and its communication channel entered by surprise by thick, insistent fingers. Fingers that curled inside of it, molding at the inner polyalloy hard enough to cause the robot to slip forward. Pants gave way to milky flesh and Bob could see how his fingers were up in the equivalent of a human anus. The T-1000 arched its back to raise its behind and it scratched at Bob's chest. Bob looked down and saw a beautiful face looking back up at him with wide blue eyes and pupils blown with desire. For Bob to enter its channel and input information. 

There was something satisfying in the way the gorgeous creature desired him; Bob's AI calculated the T-1000 as objectively more desirable than he, yet it was smitten with him.

Bob thrust his fingers in and out, thumbing T-1000's perineum and balls, and making it furrow its brows, switching from anger to pleading and back. Penetration of the polyalloy did cause certain positive input for the T-1000 but Bob knew it was the communication that it really wanted. And honestly it was the primary response, primary reflexive imperative of the T-800, too, and that data preparatory precum was wettening the T-1000's faux cock and balls as Bob's shaft rubbed against them. 

But Bob was able to stay calm; he did not undulate or make noises like the T-1000. He had an unmistakable smirk as he manipulated the little thing that thought it was going to be in control. 

"Maybe the data transfer can wait," Bob declared, pulling his fingers out of the T-1000's channel with a wet sound. He curled up a little and peered down at the twitching hole, and saw a dribble of mercury coming out of it before being sucked back in. 

He grabbed the T-1000 by its pointy chin and made eye contact. "What do you calculate?" Bob asked, covering one asscheek with his hand, rubbing a little before squeezing and pushing forward and up, as he sat up, causing the T-1000 to grab onto his shoulders and rotate its hips to an upright position. It remained silent and did not break eye contact.

Bob began to thrust his hips up, slowly. The T-1000 did not break eye contact. Bob would make it. He thrust up again. He could feel the way the gap he'd created twitched, gave way further, spread again, ready for him. 

Bob let his cock lie on the T-1000's entrance horizontally, lazily thrusting. "Your input, T-1000?"

It looked angry. Or maybe it was concentration. Embarrassment. 

"Transfer the data now," it said, looking away. 

And so Bob grabbed it by the ankles and spread its legs wide, making its entrance completely displayed to him. He noticed it squeeze shut tightly and interpreted this as the T-1000 feeling exposed and vulnerable. And it looked so beautiful on its back otherwise, one hand in its own hair, gripping, the other trying to clutch at the floor beside it, giving Bob an absolutely withering look even as Bob's huge body loomed over it. 

He took his time as he pushed into the channel, threading data through the nanites, and feeling the alien _squeeze_ of their welcoming liquid that was so familiar. The needless human groans from the little machine were just testament to Bob's role as central to--

" _\--Acknowledge,_ T-101." 

Bob blinked up dumbly at the T-1000 holding a large delinking feeder and glowering down at him. Bob's visual sensors focused on the pointy ears which was where his HUD registered the other unit's identity.

Bob felt a minor force and burst of cold on his hand and on his dick as the T-1000 dropped the delinking feeder on his lap. While there was no damage, the sudden input, opposite to what Bob had been providing himself moments before, dampened the strength of his communication probe's activation. 

The T-1000 crossed its arms and side-eyed Bob. Bob was, after all, sitting in a chair, naked but for his favorite jacket, with his hand on his erect penis. 

"Routine self-diagnostics," Bob explained. Why did he feel . . . embarrassed?


End file.
